Yes for Â£100&#039;000.

NO! NO! NO! Not for all the money in the world.

I&#039;m a mortarman and proud of doing her.

LE

Imagine the scene... Following an evening of alcohol fuelled debauchery you wake up with that oh so familiar thought of "What the f*ck was I drinking last night?"

A body moves under the quilt, you have a vague recollection of scoring with Kylie in the wee small hours of the morning.

Amazed at your own sexual prowess you pull back the quilt to expose the sex kitten you have trapped.

You recoil in horror as you discover you have in fact inadvertently shagged Faye Turney..

The question is... do you do a kiss and tell to the tabloids for a vast sum of money... or do you gnaw off your arm at the shoulder and make your escape?

They could put me in a helicopter and fly me up into the air and line up the bodies head to toe on the ground in delightful geometric patterns like an endless June Taylor dancers routineâand it would never be enough. No, I donât keep count. But you do. And I love you for it.

LE

Oh, that's an easy one. Actually, there are several choices, one of which is to make a swift call to Japanese embassy, to Naval attache, and notify location of said lady for whaling fleet to find. Then, claim finders fee. And, after that, then contact tabloids. Give them the full story, complete with any recordings you may have made ( what? Do you not all record every moment spent with a woman? Bugger, best way to avoid lawsuits and all awkward questions about consent). Recordings can then be backed up with photos taken on phone camera, or if time not a problem, a video cam. If she is still drunk and sprawled, then pics can be sold to 'Big Munters Monthly' or, 'Festering Fanny ' magazine.
Loads of money to roll in.

I don't feel old. I don't feel anything until noon.

Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons

LE

Mr. Chard Sir! Patrol has come back, Zulus have gone, all of 'em. It's a miracle! If it's a miracle Colour Sergeant, it's a short chamber Boxer Henry, point 45 caliber miracle. And a bayonet Sir! With some guts behind it!

LE

He's more likely to be on rum-ration. Unless its the Matelot. I know he's a sick one but even thats to far, surely.

"Duncan Ferguson elbowed me in the neck three times and I was beginning to get a bit angry. I swore at him in Austrian and I know he couldn't possibly have understood it. Even so, he suddenly swung round and thumped me in the stomach. He got sent off, but I began to appreciate how he earned his reputation as a hard man. It was a nice punch, I have to say."

Old-Salt

I would and then use the money to book myself into the priory clinic to ensure I never drink again and therefore there will be no repeat of this, some money would also be used to pay for a hypnotheropist to remove the memory for life.

Officer: Soldier, do you have change for a fiver?
Soldier: Yes mate.
Officer: Mate! Mate! I'm a commisioned officer, lets try that again. Soldier do you have change for a fiver?
Soldier: Sorry, no SIR!!!

LE

I would use the money to hire a contract killer to ensure her silence.

We must never speak of this again...

They could put me in a helicopter and fly me up into the air and line up the bodies head to toe on the ground in delightful geometric patterns like an endless June Taylor dancers routineâand it would never be enough. No, I donât keep count. But you do. And I love you for it.

LE

I would, but the only way I can get my rocks off is if I tie the wench to a chair, beat her up a bit, tell her things she doesn't want to hear about her children, beat her up a bit more, and then get to it.

The only problem is she'll just write another book/winge to Sir Trevor McDoughnut and we'd have to endure her face again.

LE

They could put me in a helicopter and fly me up into the air and line up the bodies head to toe on the ground in delightful geometric patterns like an endless June Taylor dancers routineâand it would never be enough. No, I donât keep count. But you do. And I love you for it.